Litany of Heroes
by Sailor Sol
Summary: A collection of short ficlets chronicling a vast array of characters, be they Blade, White Sister, Inquisitor, Brethren, Royalty, or anyone else that strikes my fancy.
1. Beginnings

**Litany of Heroes**

**Author's Notes:** I started playing with a prompt table and decided I may as well share the little bits and bobs that I wrote for it. I'm not sticking with any one character. In fact, my intention is more to explore as many of the characters as I can. I also plan on prodding a bit at some of the little pet theories that Robin and I have come up with on various topics, including things like the history of the Blades, the history of Chivial, the history of Baelmark, the history of the Brethren, and other things that aren't necessarily expounded upon in canon.

The stories aren't necessarily tied together, and there isn't any sense of continuity. I'm not really going in order of the prompts, either. I'm writing what comes to me as it comes. This is just as much a challenge to myself to write as it is a challenge to myself to explore characters I sometimes don't. Therefore, the lengths of these are going to vary wildly. I do aim to eventually complete all 100 of the prompts. It may take me a while though.

Any and all feedback is appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it from Dave Duncan's fantastic works, then I don't own it (except in paperback).

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**001. Beginnings.**

"Who does he think he is, the second coming of Durendal?"

Such a throwaway line, one that the students used on a regular basis when one of the other boys was letting his ego get the better of him. But this boy, this _Brat_, decided that yes, in fact, he was.

The masters were suitably furious, of course, and the candidates shocked. It just wasn't _done_. But the boy didn't care, fought tooth and nail to keep the name.

And a new legend was born...

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	2. Not Enough

**Litany of Heroes**

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it from Dave Duncan's fantastic works, then I don't own it (except in paperback).

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**035. Not Enough.**

The first time he slipped the silver baldric over his head, settling it in place across his chest, his heart thumped madly. It felt wrong, the fabric too light for the burden it represented. He knew whose place he was taking, knew he could never live up to the image that no one except himself expected him to.

Dark eyes stared back at him from the mirror, judging him, questioning his worth. Who was he to wear this sash? Who was he to think he deserved to follow in the footsteps of men far greater than he ever could be?

He set his shoulders; he would never be another Montpurse or another Durendal, but the king had chosen him specifically, had given him this honor. He was Sir Bandit, Commander of the Royal Guard, and he would do his best.

Someday he would learn to ignore the voice that said it would never be enough.

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	3. Broken

**Litany of Heroes**

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it from Dave Duncan's fantastic works, then I don't own it (except in paperback).

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**071. Broken.**

Sometime during that first part of her reign as Queen Malinda of Baelmark, she couldn't help but lie awake at night feeling as if something in her life was broken, or as if part of her was missing. She would listen to her husband's steady breathing as he slept next to her, watch the rise and fall of his chest, and she would see someone else in his place.

The man in her dreams was just as broad as Radgar, but instead of wild red hair he had dark curls, and the little hair on his muscled chest did nothing to hide the pale mark across his heart. It was frighteningly vivid, and often times she wondered if she was under some sort of conjury until she reached out to feel the unmarked skin of her husband. Dark eyes didn't watch her, glittering in the night.

She never told Radgar about her waking-dreams, more on the principle that he might be jealous of her mysterious man and more troubled by the fact that she _knew_ he had been a Blade, _her_ Blade, though she had never been to Ironhall and rarely spoke of the subject with the man who had once been Candidate Raider and had, at one point, had a Blade of his own.

But she couldn't help but wonder sometimes what would have happened had she not agreed to marry Radgar, had she not _slapped him_ that day at Wetshore. And while she felt broken and fragmented thinking of the dark Blade lying next to her, somehow she knew that it had been wrong, and this life, here and now, was the way things should have been.

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	4. Fixed

**Litany of Heroes**

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it from Dave Duncan's fantastic works, then I don't own it (except in paperback).

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**072. Fixed.**

The moment cold steel slid through his chest and back out again, Dog remembered. The flood of memories left him disoriented for a moment, but his classmates were more than willing to blame that on the fresh binding. He didn't know how he knew they were memories, didn't know how they _could_ be, because he had never even met the king's daughter, who had married the king of Baelmark almost three months previously.

It took him two weeks at the palace in Grandon, trying to sort through the not-memories before it became clear to him what had happened. Stories from his childhood floated back to him about conjuries and time travel, and plans to go back in time himself began to unravel as he learned more about the future he already had and never would have again.

He remembered enough from that other past (future?) to know that things had gone terribly wrong. He could remember the betrayals and the heartaches and the losses. But he remembered soft skin and gentle kisses, books of poetry and tender looks.

He felt the tingle of magic across his skin on the night that marked the end of that other timeline. He had held his secrets close leading up to that moment, his own special not-quite-fantasy that kept Sir Dog from falling prey to his own darkness.

But in that moment when the universe seemed to _snap!_ the memories slipped away like water in a sieve, and Dog couldn't help but think that he was once again being given what he deserved. Happiness was not to be his, even in fantasy, and with the lingering taste of sweet lips on his own, the world was set to right.

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	5. Victory

**Litany of Heroes**

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it from Dave Duncan's fantastic works, then I don't own it (except in paperback).

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**098. Victory.  
**

It had not felt like victory, the end to this war, this personal crusade of his. He had not pulled the trigger on the crossbow feeling any sort of vindication; only a deep sense of regret. And when the screams echoed across the water as his boat drifted away with the tide, he had to spit the bitter taste from his mouth.

He watched the carnage from a distance, the blood he had knowingly made to be spilled already coating his hands thickly. There was no joy in the defeat of the men he once considered friends, the ones who had once been family.

He did not turn his back, did not take his eyes away as horsemen rode down the rioters. Did not let himself _feel_, because he had known what he was doing, and this was his to take. Bitter and bloody it might be, but the victory was _his_.

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	6. History

**Litany of Heroes**

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it from Dave Duncan's fantastic works, then I don't own it (except in paperback).

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**049. History.  
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He made a habit of knowing precisely how to reward people. As king, it was a good trait, and it was something he had learned at a young age while still only prince. This wasn't an ordinary situation though, and it took Ambrose several long nights of pondering before he finally came up with the perfect way to reward the young upstart Blade for what had happened down in the Blades' Den and remind him of the king's good sense of humor.

He smirked as he watched Durendal open the box, eyes widening comically to see the finely crafted weapon inside. The young man would certainly appreciate the worth of such an item, encrusted with jewels as it was. It was certainly one of a kind.

He waited for the inevitable day when he could once more gloat at the Blade over the gift, simply pointing out that the records in the Royal Treasury indicated that it had belonged to Durendal, and Ambrose was simply returning it to its "rightful owner" after so many years.

But Ambrose was disappointed that Durendal did not question him on the sword-breaker, and when the king eventually forgot, that knowledge was lost to time.

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	7. Truth

**Litany of Heroes**

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it from Dave Duncan's fantastic works, then I don't own it (except in paperback).

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**047. Truth.  
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If there was one thing Ivyn Kromman loved above all else it was the truth, and using that truth to protect king and country. It did not matter to him how others might feel about his actions, because he had sworn his loyalty to the Dark Chamber and to the House of Ranulf. He would not, _could not_ make a lie of that.

"You were told to wait for the Blades!" Commander Montpurse snapped at him. Ivyn ignored the man, watching instead as the body of the traitor was removed. "We could have stopped this!"

He fixed his gaze on the other man. They were probably the same age, but the Blade had never lost that soft, baby-faced look. Ivyn had always felt it made him look ridiculous, especially in the current style of livery the king insisted his Guard wear.

"Nutting's Blade will still stand trial. _If_ he survives." He couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice; Blades and Inquisitors never saw eye to eye, and for the life of him, Ivyn could never see why the Blades thought so highly of themselves. They had to be _conjured_ to be faithful; a simple oath was enough for anyone else.

"Durendal was _not_ involved in this mess save for the fact that he was _bound_ to that worthless waste of space," Montpurse snarled.

"The auguries indicate he is a threat to the king's life. He will stand trial with the other traitors," Ivyn replied calmly.

"The auguries also claim the king will die twice, Kromman, so you can see how very little faith I have in those," Montpurse retorted. Ivyn resisted the urge to sigh; conjured swordsmen did not understand.

"They have never once been wrong before. Now why don't you go make sure Sir Durendal is ready to stand trial." He kept his deliberately blank gaze fixed on the commander, watching his face redden, before the other man turned and stormed off, no doubt to lodge some sort of complaint with the king.

Once alone, Ivyn did allow the sigh to escape. Montpurse had been right, of course; fate predicted that the king would die twice. But it was not his job to interpret the meaning of such things. Here and now, there was a threat to the king, and he would do everything in his power to see that Durendal never had the chance to fulfill his destiny.

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